


Catharsis

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Father/Son Incest, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Omega Billy Hargrove, Post-Season/Series 02, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Susan is always so sweet when they leave for Billy’s heat. Always concerned, none the wiser, thinking they’re going to the nearest heat clinic. Which in Hawkins is slim pickings. It’s not like San Diego where they’re scattered around to serve the large population. There’s only one for all the shithole towns around here. That’s not where they’re going, though. Even when they’d still lived in San Diego, that’s never where they went.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Neil Hargrove
Kudos: 44
Collections: Anonymous





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the views and situations expressed below do not reflect the author's opinions. The author does not condone any of the following in real life. This is a work of fiction. Proceed with intelligence and caution.

Susan is always so sweet when they leave for Billy’s heat. Always concerned, none the wiser, thinking they’re going to the nearest heat clinic. Which in Hawkins is slim pickings. It’s not like San Diego where they’re scattered around to serve the large population. There’s only one for all the shithole towns around here. That’s not where they’re going, though. Even when they’d still lived in San Diego, that’s never where they went.

“Neil, are you sure you have everything? You have a change of clothes for Billy?”

Normally? Billy would snap and snarl at that. Not enough to get smacked, but enough to defend his pride. Right now, it takes all his concentration to just stay upright on the couch and not melt into a puddle. He’s already sweat through the thin t-shirt and sweatpants Dad shoved on him. Dad knew this was coming. He knows Billy’s cycle like clockwork, has it narrowed down to a window of a few days every month. He knew he would miss work today and Billy would miss school. Hopefully they nip Billy’s unfortunate, biological need with one knot.

Sometimes it takes two. Last time, it’d taken two. Has taken two knots since arriving in Hawkins. Billy would blame his fellow omega, Steve Harrington, for being so sweet on the eyes and on the tongue. Getting him hot and bothered wondering just how sweet. How terribly he wants to bite and scratch all that pale skin, connect the dots on his moles and see how far they go down. Being around Steve is the worst sort of torture. Playing games with the delicate balance of Billy’s hormones and birth control. But to dwell on Steve would require him diverting brain power away from not rubbing himself on the couch and mewling. And he would rather die so.

Hazy eyes slide like a finger through sludge to find Neil and Susan kissing goodbye in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. She is all timid smiles at Neil, breaking their eye contact to glance Billy’s way. Always worried about him like he’s her pup. He can’t stand the pity. She doesn’t know the truth. About what’s going to happen. About what’s been happening since Billy presented during a Little League game and got him kicked off the team. One of the last times he tried to run away from Dad. Now, there’s no point in running away from him. Suffering the full length of his affliction is no longer a mercy afforded him. The word ‘heat’ is like vomit on his tongue, so he refuses to acknowledge it. It’s just a sickness under his skin. Temporary. It doesn’t define him, what’s about to happen.

“We have everything, thank you Susan.” Billy is completely still, barely breathing, when Neil approaches him. Neil towers above his son with thunderclouds already gathering on his tanned face. “Say goodbye to Susan, Billy.”

If he opens his mouth, something terrible will come out. A genie he can’t put back in the fucking bottle. So his head rolls weightless and dumb to the side so he stares across the room at Susan. Please. Please just give him an out. Give him one second of mercy, if she really cares about him, she’ll do it.

“Oh Neil, it’s fine. Billy needs to get to the clinic, it’s fine.”

‘It’s fine.’ It’s always fine. Billy with a limp in his step is fine. Billy with a ring gouge in his eyebrow is fine—it’s going to scar. Watching Billy get smacked in the mouth around Thanksgiving had been fine. It’s always fine with her.

Dad’s lips press into a flat line with his back safely to Susan. She won’t witness the anger pooling red and ugly in the center of his face, neck tensing. It’s what he looks like right before rearing a hand back and deciding whether to make a fist or just slap Billy. 

So Billy finds it in himself to shove the awful whimpers and whines that want to undo him, always shoving down, and rasps, “Goodbye, Susan.”

Blood blooms in his mouth from how hard he bites himself. But he’d done it. Showed Susan the respect demanded of him. The red seeps out of Dad’s face like it was never there in the first place. No excuses for bad manners, apparently. Even though Neil has to bend down and drag Billy off the couch. Once Billy’s rubbery knees are under him, though, he’s mostly on his own. He’s barefoot, no one thinking to get some shoes on his feet before Dad parades him out of the house. Dad is a burning force behind him during the brief stumble out the front door and to his pick-up parked at the curb. The Camaro is in the back for once. They don’t need Billy falling down the steps out back to reach the cars in the yard below. It’s a modicum of mercy, Dad pulling the truck around for him. Maybe Max asked him after the last time Billy fell. She knows even less than Susan, but she still gives a wince of sympathy whenever Billy hobbles around. If only she knew.

The drive to whatever motel Dad is taking them to is quiet. Mostly quiet. The leather seat under Billy whines when he shifts around. He’s just trying to sit comfortably, which means trying to keep his butt off the seat as much as possible. Slouching with a seatbelt strapped across him isn’t the easiest thing to do, but it would make the least amount of mess. Because whatever happens in Dad’s truck, whatever mess Billy makes, Billy has to clean it up. And once they’re done at the motel, he’d rather be as far away from Dad as possible. Through the haze of his control over himself, he thinks maybe he’ll walk home this time. Even if Neil takes them out of town, and most likely he will, Billy thinks he’ll walk back. Even if he’s barefoot. For the fresh, spring air, of course.

“Sit still, son,” Neil grumbles to him, radio turned low. Some oldies shit. “Not much longer.”

Even being cooped up in the truck with an alpha helps. Helps soothe his skin, yes, but makes his noises all the harder to force down. Because what he needs is right here. The thing that will take away the pain and soothe the unbearable itch under his skin. It’s right here, it’s always right here. He just needs to appease the alpha and make himself more welcoming. Billy slaps a hand over bitten lips to cup both a whimper and maybe vomit back into his mouth. He can’t throw up in Dad’s truck. It’s not an option.

Neil sighs, “Lord, give me strength,” under his breath. “Keep it together, we’re almost there.”

The glass of the window is cool on Billy’s forehead. It whines against his sweaty skin when he shifts his head. He needs all the comfort he can scrounge up, all the bolstering he can muster. It’s gotten easier, these motel trips with Dad. In the beginning, Dad had no choice but to wait until Billy was in the thick of it. Completely incoherent and nonverbal before picking him up and driving him to whatever shitty motel Dad chose that time. Because when he was younger, well… He still fought back. The memories of Mom and putting himself in front of her were still fresh. So kicking and screaming with Neil on top of him until he was growled into submission on his belly was the natural thing to do. Now, there’s no point. No fight anymore.

Billy nearly plummets right to the parking lot in a heap when Dad yanks the door open on him. The seatbelt saves him, biting nasty and sharp into Billy’s throat. He doesn’t feel it, but he groans all the same while reaching for the red welt. Distantly, Dad mutters under his breath and wrestles Billy free of the seatbelt and truck altogether. The door slams somewhere behind Billy, and he jumps. He just as quickly cowers and keeps his head down, hair not quite helping to shield him from an audience. When will be the last time they have to hide their shame? All because Dad doesn’t trust him.

Room key in hand—when had Dad paid for the room?—Dad marches him around the ground floor of the two-story motel. They’re in a corner unit. So only someone above and on one side would overhear them. If this were the type of place where someone overhearing them would be a problem. To Neil, it’s always a problem. Which is why they never deal with Billy at the house or anywhere near the house. Billy wishes he had the mind to remember which direction they’ve driven in, where they are. He doesn’t recognize the buildings around the motel or the road. It doesn’t matter when Dad shoulders the door open, sticking on the metal join on the floor, and shoves Billy into the room. The door closes behind them with a snap of a deadbolt and the rattle of a chain lock. Someone would have to break the door down to get in. Or out. No use running anymore.

His back is to Dad when, “Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” drifts over him. The metallic twinkle of Dad’s belt and the hum of his zipper freeze Billy’s heated blood. Every time. “The sooner this is over, the sooner we go home, son.”

What possesses him to speak up this time? What the fuck is any difference between this time and any other time he’s huddled on his knees, face down and ass up? Something is different despite Billy’s bone-deep terror, because he opens his mouth and tries for words with his ruined voice.

“Dad… wait.”

The room goes still. How it can be qo quiet with Billy about to hyperventilate and drop to the floor, he doesn’t know. Is it hot in here to anyone else? Does anyone else hear that high-pitched whine?

“What was that son?”

Teeth gritting to the point of pain and his nails in his palms, Billy grinds out, “We don’t… have to do this.”

“I think we both know I do, son.” Muffled rubbing of fabric as Dad tugs his belt free of his pants. The buckle clicks again as he leaves it on a chair by the door. “I can’t trust you.”

“I said I was sorry!” Billy’s hands fly to his face where his fingers dig into his hair while the heels of his palms press colors into his closed eyes. Trying not to cry even as his voice breaks, still so young. “It just happened, he was there, I-I knew it would be over if he helped me.”

Dad snaps hot at his back, this conversation exhumed and reinterred so many times, “And look where that got you, son! How that little faggot friend of yours didn’t knock you up is beyond me.”

A hand strikes out with all the meanness it can muster, tangles in Billy’s hair, and then shoves him onto the bed. He bounces a few times. The musty bedspread probably hasn’t been washed properly in months. Dad stands above and behind him and just watches him tremble for a moment. Until Billy flinches, trying to curl up on himself. To protect himself, which is almost as bad as running away.

Dad scoffs above him, and Billy can just see the face he makes. Sucking his teeth like Billy does. It’s where he’d learned it, after all.

In that terrifying, murmuring way of his, Neil’s lips barely move when he adds, “Not gonna have you run around on me like your whore mother did.” He takes a breath, the calm before the storm, and says carefully, “Take your clothes off, Billy. Now.”

But he thinks about their new life here. Without the cloud of shame hanging over him, because in California, all the neighbors and kids at school knew about it. About him and Miguel. What’s worse, Max had sort of caught him after the fact, ran her mouth at the dinner table thinking it was funny. Dad couldn’t uproot them immediately, had to make absolutely sure Billy wasn’t pregnant. And when he wasn’t, then it was off to the middle of nowhere so Dad could keep a tighter leash on him. Make sure he didn’t fuck up again, for real this time. It’s all messed up now, though, because instead of lying here like he always does, he thinks about Steve Harrington and what that must be like. To be normal. 

To not cringe at the smell of Dad’s cologne or jump when something sounds too much like a belt snapping. Or how sometimes, if Dad is mad about something and just curses Mom the whole time, how Billy can’t stand the sound of his own voice anymore. Because he’d learned it all from Dad and he sounds just like Neil, and he hates it, hates himself so much for bending over for Dad and letting this happen. He couldn’t stop Dad from chasing Mom away and can’t stop Dad from tugging his jeans down and then reaching for him. He hasn’t moved an inch to do as Dad told him to.

“Just! Just leave me here!” Billy pleads with his hands under him, scrambling to get up, off his belly, anywhere but here. “There’s nobody else here, dad, I’ll be fine on my own, just—”

“And wait for the alpha who owns this place to come sniffing around? Absolutely not.”

Strong hands, where he’s gotten his from, yank at his hips to tug him to the edge of the mattress. Neil pops him up on his knees like he doesn’t weigh every pound he should. Right at the edge, ass flush to him. So Neil never has to climb up with him. Just knot him and be done.

“Son, when you’re 18 you can run around with whoever you want, have pups, ruin your life, whatever you want.” Dad rips the sweatpants right off him, growling lightly when Billy kicks his legs, barely misses hitting the irritated alpha behind him. “But while you live under my roof? You’re gonna behave and stay in line. Remember what we talked about, right son?”

Boyish lips scowl when Dad yanks him up by his hair to whip Billy’s shirt off. It takes everything in him and holding his breath to not scream. Neil just as quickly drops him back to the bed, scalp throbbing now. Billy presses his face into the dusty bedspread rather than give power to the two words he hates so much. On the tiers of bad decisions around Dad, staying silent when he expects an answer sits right below running away and fighting back. Obstinance. It’s poor manners. Gets him smacked all the time.

“Billy, I won’t ask you again. Remember what we talked about?”

It’s happening, he guesses. Again. He can’t fight how the smell of them thickens in this disgusting motel, blocking stale cigarettes and mothball age. Billy is plenty ripe, has been for hours now. Probably making a sticky mess down the insides of his thighs. One hand keeps him steady while the other works over velvety flesh. Dad has to get hard somehow, can’t exactly push a rope, so to speak. A hopeless laugh barks out of Billy as he turns his head to the side. Just the one, because it’s all he can manage before a pitiful whine shreds through his clenched teeth.

Dad is never loving when he does this. Would that be even weirder than popping a knot in your whore omega son because he can’t be trusted to keep his legs shut? Would it be weird for Dad to pet him through this and purr for him like he would, say, any other omega? Dad’s hands bruising him as he hauls Billy right back up on his knees are never gentle. Not as hard as when they form fists and launch themselves wherever Billy is weakest at the time. But not gentle.

At the first press of blood-hot skin to his wet hole, ready and yet not ready, Billy chokes out, “Respect and… responsibility.”

His jaw hangs open with his expression about to crumble when Dad fills him up in a smooth, tight glide, grinds through his teeth, “That’s exactly right.”

He can hope for silence, but he doesn’t get it. There’s an edge to Dad right now. Well, there’s always an edge to Neil Hargrove, but it’s particularly sharp and twisted at this moment. Usually? Dad tries to touch him as little as possible. The bare minimum of contact—so mostly hands anchoring Billy’s hips to thunder into him. And the obvious point of contact, the exact sort that spears him hot and too tight right open. And then doesn’t give him a second to adjust, a second to fucking breathe before the racers are off. One of Dad’s hands slaps hair off the back of his neck to pin him to the bed. Dad never touches him when they do this.

Dad never makes much noise when they do this, either. Yet Billy could not hope to drown the panting behind him or how Dad sucks a breath between his teeth every so often. Like he’s holding back noises, too. At Billy’s hip, Neil’s other hand that had once steadied him now helps him sway. Encourages motion out of Billy’s knees where they were content to remain straight in the bed. Like someone has stuck a pin in him, Billy’s stomach twists in horror as he battles with throwing up again. Because he recognizes the cadence and rhythm well. He sounds and moves exactly the same when he’s fucking someone. And enjoying it. 

Dad tries to shift his hand on the back of Billy’s neck. To adjust his grip or maybe lean off Billy, who knows. Billy’s hair snags in the links of Dad’s watch, trapping them both. Billy’s stomach is all the more stormy when he cowers under an impatient snarl. When Dad yanks his hand free, dark blond strands dangle like spider silk in the dim light of the room. Catching gold in the stray ray of sunshine.

Whipping his arm down to fling strands of hair free, Dad’s hand is back on his neck. Harder this time, fingers digging into the sides of Billy’s throat. His jack-rabbit pulse races under that touch. Desperate to get away and hide. He’s never gotten away before, won’t this time, either. Only Dad insists on continuing the surprises tonight when he grunts something that is coherent.

“You mother’s hair always got caught in my watches too.” Neil’s fingers tighten around his son’s neck to the point of choking. He doesn’t lighten up the rolling thrusts of his hips, lets Billy go breathless before relaxing his grip again. “Sometimes you look just like her, son.”

Already sick with what’s happening, Dad’s words are the lowest of blows. Fingers curled in the musty bedspread under him, Billy turns his head to press his face into the blanket, too. Even holds his breath for good measure. Maybe it will make him lightheaded and deaf to Dad’s aggressive rambling. Dad is into it, now, bouncing Billy forward on his knees with harder pops of hips into him. No holding back, now. Snarling whatever he wants while they wait for his knot to swell up. Billy takes it more than Susan, he bets. Bets Dad has never grabbed her by the ass like this and fucked her until little whimpers knocked out of her. Billy bites himself bloody to stop them.

“Couldn’t trust her,” Dad groans, adjusting his grip on Billy’s ass, his hand slipping from sweat. Holding Billy open… Watching him? “She ran around on me, abandoned us. Do you wanna be like her, son? A whore?”

Dad had chased her away. Billy knows the truth the same as his cheek first knew the truth of violence. From the same hand that chased her away, too. Dad just traded one omega for another, Mom for him, and kept right on beating. Billy chokes on something awful and ugly when he thinks about dad trading one omega for another in a different way. He’s certainly never this loud while fucking Susan. The walls of the house are thin, and Neil and Susan share the large, finished basement. He’s pretty sure their bed is below his room. 

The fingers in his neck tighten to the choking point again when Neil snarls, “Answer me when I’m talking to you, boy!”

Mean fingers in his neck slip away only to tangle in his hair. Dad rips his head back and out of the blanket. Demanding his response. 

“No, sir!”

Dad’s hips slow down, still smacking into Billy’s ass though, when he says, “If only your mother wasn’t a weak omega. You’re all like that.” He grunts with a hard pop of his hips into Billy again. The base of his cock swells, not yet catching where Billy needs it. “On your backs, on your knees, any knot will do. Can’t trust you, son.” The hand tangled in his hair flips the script and shoves Billy back into the blanket. Neil holds him down like that while urging Billy’s ass higher. He picks up speed, too, and pants through adding, “So until you’re 18, this is the only knot you’ll get.”

The next bite of Dad’s fingers into his neck doesn’t reach Billy through the haze of numbness that falls over him. It’s the first time in his life he’s been able to block the roar of his heat, the spread and gush of his body around his dad’s cock. It hadn’t been too long ago when he turned 14, presented during the summer after. The first time he fought back when Dad smacked him around. Only that time Dad shoved him into a motel bed like this one, pulled his Little League uniform down, and…

Groaning thick in his throat, Dad pants under his breath, “Emily, Emily, Emily.”

Voice lost to the whimpers Dad fucks out of him, Billy scrambles at the blanket as the pressure inside him swells. The echoes of his mother’s name makes catching on Neil’s knot that much worse. His body welcomes the release it gives, but his mind loathes it actually happening. Plump and fat like a young buck, Dad’s knot bullies its way inside him. Whether he’s ready for it or not. Whether Dad imagines he’s coming in his ex-wife or someone else. It’s the same as every other time. All of Billy’s strength abandons him. Blue eyes rolling back in his head, long lashes flutter on his cheeks as he moans. He doesn’t mean to, never means to. But the instant he locks on Dad’s knot, the fever in his skin subsides. Thinking is still beyond him, but at least the overwhelming need reduces to a low simmer.

Billy shudders through his disgust while trying to curl up already. He’s still hanging off Dad’s knot, though. At least Neil is too caught up in the waves of his orgasm to catch Billy gritting his teeth through his jaw trembling. Billy turns his face flat into the blanket to hide the tears and the wobble in his chin. Dad doesn’t have to do this every time. He could wear a condom, had a vasectomy back in California. There’s no reason he has to come inside Billy and make a mess out of him. The knot is enough, more than enough for his troubled memories. The filth that will drip out of Billy the moment Dad is done with him…

Billy doesn’t wonder what it’s like with a normal alpha. One who isn’t his father. Because he never wants this in the first place. Would rather pull a pretty little thing like Steve into his lap and love on him until Steve was a cooing mess. They wouldn’t need an alpha between them. They could be perfect for each other. Steve is such a square, so fucking normal, so lonely in his big fucking house and a bunch of 13 year olds for friends. It makes Billy sick to think what he could have instead, and he has to hold his breath when all he wants to do is scream.

How could he ever begin to explain this to the pretty boy? How could Steve ever look at him again after knowing the truth? That whenever his heat rolls around, he hangs off dear old Dad’s knot and usually comes on it, too. Billy doesn’t need to slip a shaking hand under him to feel the wetness at the head of his cock. He’ll lie down in the wet spot his little omega ejaculate made. To add to the mess of Neil’s come spilling out of him. Soon. How could Steve not hate him down to his core if he knew?

Why Steve’s opinion of him matters so much, Billy doesn’t know. It’s not like he gives a shit what anyone else thinks. Then again, all his smooth talk and wit sort of bounce off Steve. He won’t be swayed like all the others. Charm and bravado like that of an alpha doesn’t impress Steve much. Billy rubs his tears away on the motel blanket and wonders what it would take to make Steve’s face light up and happy. Billy doesn’t think he has it in him, can’t wear a mask like that well enough. Steve would see right through him. See straight through to Billy’s humiliated, torn soul. Dad made him this way.

Too caught up in his daydreams of Steve, Billy’s eyes go wide and panicked as Dad starts to pull out. To pop Billy off his knot, because it’s starting to go down. Down enough to end this, anyway. The moment air hits wet skin and his hole clenches on nothing, Billy curls up on his side as tightly as he can. No amount of cowering ever stops Neil from doing whatever he wants. It’s the only bit of comfort and reassurance Billy will get. There’s no one here to pet his hair and tell him it’s okay, that he did good, that it’s over now. He hates himself all the more that if Steve were here saying those things that he wouldn’t even snarl at the other omega. He’d just cling to Steve and never let go, craving that blissful normalcy.

Despite carefully taping up his emotional walls again, Billy flinches under his dad clapping the bicep he’s not lying on.

“Do we need to stay or do you think once is enough?”

Figured Dad would find a place that would let him rent for just a few hours. In case Billy’s cycle decides to go back to it’s one-knot routine. Billy isn’t sure what he needs in that regard. He needs Neil Hargrove as far away from him as possible, he does know that much.

“I-I’m cool, Dad. I’ll be fine…” Billy forces himself to relax. Breath in and count to four, hold for one, and then exhale for five. “You can just leave me here. I’ll walk home, it’s not far.”

Neil shifts around. Looking for something.

“Did you put shoes on before we left the house?”

“Yea,” he lies pushing himself up to sit. “Yea I just kicked my shoes under the bed. It’s cool, I could use the walk.”

His back is to Dad when he says that. If he turns around and has to face his father’s cool expression, Billy knows he’ll crumble. He needs this mercy right now. He’ll never ask for anything again, won’t ask the universe to give him Steve or anything good, if it will just make Dad leave. The hottest shower the pipes of this shithole can muster is in order. That and a good, old fashioned cry in the bottom of a gross tub. Won’t be Billy’s first time, won’t be his last. 

After a pause that winds Billy up tight, almost brings him to beg, Neil says, “Well all right. Be home in time for supper.”

Billy doesn’t move when Dad shuffles around the room. His form is a blur with Billy’s eyes out of focus as Neil dips into the tiny bathroom long enough to clean himself up. Can’t go home to Susan and Max smelling like he does. With any luck, Dad will just reach for the toolbox in his pick-up and snatch the bottle of overpowering cologne he keeps in it just for this. Just to cover up the smell of his son on him where it shouldn’t be. Billy’s throat closes up when the blur strides past him again. Everything sort of hurts like he’s tumbled down a hill and bounced all the way down. At least his skin doesn’t burn anymore. At least the emptiness inside him is already going away. He’ll have to pry it open to clean himself out, though. It’s never a pleasant process.

Neil says nothing more when the motel room door opens and shuts. Now, Billy glances to the alarm clock sitting on the rickety nightstand. He probably has ten minutes before someone comes knocking to kick him out. Dad would only pay for another hour if they needed to stay. Which they don’t. Billy doesn’t move until the pop of gravel under tires dies away. Dad’s pick-up is long gone when he finally scoots to the edge of the bed on his knees. They buckle when he stands, but he catches himself on the mattress. If he goes down, he won’t get back up. 

The water in this disgusting, equally-musty bathroom is cruel, heats up slowly. Billy doesn’t bother with the wait, just steps in and lets the cool water hit him. He’s already soaped up with a thin, wax-wrapped sliver of soap the motel provided on the sink. It’s not something he thought of when sending Dad away. That maybe this motel wouldn’t have at least a complementary flake of soap. He would be grateful if he weren’t building a lather on his left hand to reach around and clean himself up. To get this next part over so he can begin the long walk back and carefully bury the memories of this deep down with the rest.

Bracing his right arm on the wall to lean forward and position himself better, Billy presses his forehead to the cold tiles while prying himself open. If there is blood, he doesn’t see it, turns his nose away from it. It’s not like Dad does anything to get him ready. Just relies on Billy’s heat to loosen him up and make him obscene with slick. It’d hurt so terribly the first time. The first few times. He was stupid to cry out and beg Neil to stop. Dad didn’t stop when he was 14, when Billy screamed himself into hyperventilating. Why would he stop now? Billy flinches with a wince when he starts drawing slick and come out of himself. It takes everything in Billy to stop his stomach from rocketing up his throat and vomiting in the tub. He’d rather not sit in his own sick, because already the fury and humiliation build up behind his eyes and make his knees shake again. He needs a fucking break.

Hands clean once more, they go slipping down the wall to slow the buckle of Billy’s knees. He still drops his weight into the bottom of the tub when he slides down, giving up at the last second because it’s too much. Sitting on a thigh would be more comfortable. Would keep the pressure off the emptiness inside him. He can bury and ignore so much—bury the sounds of Dad grunting and talking to him, bury the bliss of a familiar knot in him, bury his disgust and self-hatred. Even now he ignores how calm he is after this brush with Dad. Always calm, so calm, until he’s not. Bottling it never works, but he’s a fool and tries every time. It only takes grinding his teeth until his jaw aches for the first strain of screams to break through.

The wet curtain of his hair is his only sanctuary. He almost wishes he could convince himself to cut it all off. Especially after today. ‘Emily, Emily, Emily.’ Possessed, Billy’s square hands fly into those soaked curls and tug and rip at them. He’s probably strong enough to actually pull locks straight out of his head. It’s tempting. If only to feel anything other than this gaping maw of hopelessness in his stomach. Because yes, Dad is right. Until he’s 18 and makes his grand escape, Neil will be the only knot he gets. His birthday in October later this year cannot come fast enough. Still, that leaves possible six more heats to suffer through. Six because his birthday is October 30th, so of course he’ll suffer this right until the bitter end. He has survived three years of Dad holding him down by the neck and breeding him. How is it that six more times is somehow worse? 

Scalp tender now, Billy curls up on the bottom of the tub despite his pain and folds his arms over his head. His back heaves with trembling breaths, no longer screaming but still nowhere close to being patched up enough to leave. Time is running out. The poor boy has no choice but to pick himself up and stagger back into the outside world. Where hopefully no one will pick up on any lingering scent of his father. Not that anyone outside his household could identify it. Tipping his face into the spray, Billy mixes the last of his tears with water that has at last turned scalding hot. It will give his cheeks a reason to be pink instead of him wailing.

The spring day probably calls for a jacket. Definitely shoes as Billy pads down the side of the paved road, head down as he searches for the gleam of stray glass. This is a shit idea, in retrospect, but it beats them coming back into Hawkins together. Or Dad suggesting they waste time at a dinner. Can’t have Susan adding up the minutes in her head and then wondering why they’re back so soon. If Billy walks through Main Street, Dad’s pick-up is most likely parked behind the bar at the end of the strip of buildings. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to claim a 45 degree angle spot out in front. Where Susan could drive by and see him. Dad is smart about this. Has to be. It would be too much to explain to anyone else why they do this.

Eyes still down, the passing of a car only buffets Billy’s body. Not too close for comfort, but the pressure is there. He doesn’t glance up to look at this car, no different from any other vehicle that has passed him. The only difference being is that this one slows to a stop right in the lane up ahead, hesitates, and then pulls onto the shoulder. Billy stops dead in his tracks when the burgundy-red paint catches his eye. One of the few luxury cars in Hawkins. Behind Billy, the roar of 18 wheels hitting the pavement tickles his ears. He considers stepping in front of the big rig and ending it all. If only to avoid Steve Harrington twisting out of his BMW and jogging up, face confused and… worried?

“Billy? H-hey man, what are you doing walking on the road? I didn’t see your car… Did you break down somewhere?” Steve exhales hard when he comes to a stop. Billy stops too, although his legs protest and demand he just shoulder past his fellow omega. Doe eyes glance up and down and all around him before settling on Billy’s carefully blank face. Something the pretty boy has probably never seen before. Billy so lifeless. A shell. “You’re not wearing shoes… Are you okay?”

He should bark something mean. Something about Steve minding his own fucking business. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Such fire is so beyond Billy in this moment. He’s lucky to have his stomach clench and remind him that he’s alive, that this is real. Otherwise he is as smooth as glass. Just as fragile, too, and he’ll shatter the longer Steve looks at him with eyebrows coming together in the middle. His slim hands keep flinching at his sides. Like he’ll be so bold as to touch Billy when they’ve never had a moment of civility or closeness. Not that Billy doesn’t want that, doesn’t howl for it when he’s loose from a few beers and alone. Pathetic. 

“Just peachy, Harrington,” he murmurs, not really looking at Steve but about six inches behind him. Through him. “Just taking a walk.”

Steve’s concern gives way to confusion. Not yet annoyance. Billy hungers for normalcy.

“Cool, I guess um… There’s like glass and shit out here, man, you want a ride back to Hawkins? Or your car? I swear I didn’t see it when I drove this way…”

The wind petting over them changes direction. Shifts from blowing Steve’s mild scent Billy’s way to curling the aftermath of Billy’s heat under Steve’s nose. Billy knows the moment Steve catches on, because all his confusion melts right into concern. It’s the worst, and Billy wishes another tractor trailer would roar by so he can make good on that earlier thought. Maybe the spray and gore would miss Steve. It would certainly free Billy from his own personal hell: Steve tiptoeing around the truth of what’s happened. The back of Billy’s neck burns from Dad’s hand. Like Steve can see the phantom after image of it, can see Neil grunting and groaning behind him. ‘Emily, Emily, Emily.’

Billy swallows acid in the back of his throat when Steve blurts out, “Shit you’re… Come on man, please let me drive you back to your house? I didn’t mean to be nosy or anything, it’s—”

“Not home.” Billy can’t get it out fast enough, leans into Steve without realizing it. He wants to grab Steve by his upper arms and shake him. No, no, don’t take me home, I can’t go back yet, don’t you see all the holes in me? It’s all pouring out, I can’t stop it, I can’t go back, please, please… “I’m fine just—Take me to Main Street.”

Steve stares at him with big eyes and his teeth raked over his bottom lip. Billy had promised to never ask the universe for anything ever again if it sent Neil away from him at the motel. So he won’t bother begging for this. If Steve takes him home to Cherry Lane, Billy knows he’ll shatter the moment he steps through the front door. Before he even slips into his bedroom right at the front of the house, just behind the enclosed porch. He picked that room for a reason when they moved here. The window by his bed spills directly onto the porch. Makes for easy escape when he needs it. And he is burning for an escape right now.

“Okay…,” Steve says slowly. “Are you uh… Are you hungry? I was gonna stop at the diner downtown.”

Billy’s hands are ice when he slips them into the pockets of his sweats and turns them inside out. He’s lucky they don’t shake.

“Left my wallet at home, amigo.”

But Steve immediately shakes his head and waves that away, makes to swoop that same hand behind Billy’s shoulder and sort of corral him closer. Billy flinches away, hindbrain panicking despite Steve’s soothing nature, and Steve flinches back in kind. His expression crumbles for a second. It’s natural for Steve, always worrying about other people. It’s more than his status. He’s just a good person. Billy is just grateful that Steve doesn’t trill at him with all that concern. It’s entirely too much concern for the omega who’d beaten him to a bloody pulp a few months ago. Billy’s eyes burn without his permission when he searches Steve’s hairline for a scar from that plate. It had a good heft to it. It made a twinkling, pretty noise when he busted it over Steve’s head. Just to get Steve away from him, to get Steve to stop backing him into a corner. Everything after that, well…

“It’s fine man, don’t worry about it,” Steve says softly, too softly for them standing on the side of the road. Too softly for Billy being so broken and unable to hide it, not wearing shoes, smelling ripe like this. He should be mad about Steve treating him with kid gloves, but he doesn’t have the emotional coinage to spare. He’s bankrupt. “Come on, we’ll sneak you in without shoes. Worse comes to worse, I’ll order for us and we’ll eat in my car, whatever.”

Steve flashes him a grin. It has to fight through his lingering worries. The longer Billy stares without saying anything or cracking a smile back, the harder he makes it for Steve. He shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t slice himself to bloody ribbons with Steve’s kindness. It doesn’t mean anything. They’re not friends, not even on speaking terms, really. It’d been too dangerous after their fight in that weird house with the drawings taped all over the place.

He’d never gotten a firm answer on that, thinks maybe he imagined that part. Hyped on rage and fear and riding that wave until Max knocked him out cold. A syringe and a spiked bat. When he woke up in the front seat of his car parked at the mailbox on Cherry Lane, he just let it all go. Neil only eyed him when he stumbled into the house. Max was eating breakfast, glaring at him. But he ‘found’ her like he was told to. So the issue was dead and buried as far as Dad was concerned. If only Billy could say the same for his obsession with Steve. He shouldn’t climb into the omega’s car and accept his charity.

“Okay.”

Billy ignores the click of Steve’s seatbelt when they pile in. He’s too busy folding each foot up to his knee to hook his finger in the ankle of his sweatpants and draw the material over his feet. They’re cold and black on the bottom from filth. Rough. Tingling where he doesn’t have calluses. No cuts, though, so right back to the clean floorboard of the BMW they go. Hawkins comes rolling into view soon enough, Steve turning off the state route to enter Main Street and the twin strip of businesses on either side. There’s no parking near the diner, so Steve drives them down a ways. Hunched over the steering wheel and gripping it with two hands like a square. Billy keeps his eyes straight ahead out of fear. Fear that Dad is already lurking somewhere and their paths will cross. He doesn’t want his old man getting any ideas. Seeing him with Steve. Another omega, just how he likes.

They park in front of the twirling barber shop sign. The gears inside it squeak, needing some oil. That’s what first draws Billy’s attention to it. He steps away from the BMW, away from Steve already talking and heading in the correct direction. Mindless to Billy standing in front of the spotless glass of the front window. Someone takes up one of the barber chairs, gestures with their hands while they describe what they want. Not many girls wear their hair short these days. Big hair forever. Dad certainly hates that he keeps his hair long. Like Mom.

He could do it. He could walk right in, disturb the lazy reading of the other employee, and ask them to shave him down to his scalp. Dad would never touch his hair again, would stop seeing Mom in him, would stop fucking him like he’s her. It wouldn’t stop the trips to the motels. But it would stop the new layer of horror Billy had faced today. May face again in the future. His eyes are bright and almost wet in his reflection when Steve shuffles up beside him. The other omega’s concern is back on his face in full force. He stands closer than he needs to. Billy stares right at Steve’s ghostly reflection when confusion drifts over that pretty face.

What does he smell? Certainly the trailing edge of Billy’s heat. There’s no hiding that, especially not from another omega. He could play it off as something else to a beta, maybe an alpha. But Steve knows he’s past the worst of it. So why had he been walking on the road leading back to Hawkins while in heat? Will he puzzle it out that Billy was walking back freshly fucked? Steve blinks fast a few times and then looks at Billy for real, not his reflection. Dad never leaves marks. Not the kind an alpha would on him. The back of Billy’s neck burns under the protective drape of his hair. What would that feel like, he wonders. The weight of the curls gone and wind on his neck all the time. Steve stares hard at the phantom imprint of Dad’s hand and lifts his nose to scent the bubble of misery around Billy.

“Billy… Is your dad an alpha?”

Billy meets doe eyes without turning his head. Steve picks around the edge of truth, sees the terrible creature lurking just beneath murky waters. But he does not know it yet, that it stares him in the face. My Dad doesn’t trust me because of a pregnancy scare, because he hates omegas, because my Mom left us, so I hang off his knot, please don’t look at me, please don’t see. Billy doesn’t want Steve to see through him. But he can’t help himself. Despite Billy’s earlier fear that Steve would recoil in disgust if he knew, he can’t help himself. He’s too fragile to help himself.

“What’s it to you?”

More confusion. The awful truth is about to poke its snout above the waterline. Its muddied silhouette is there, just beneath a thin film of scum.

“I…” Steve fights with himself. He’s no prude, no blushing virgin. He flushes in his cheeks all the same. Does he know? “I just… You smell like you’re covered in an alpha’s scent, but it also kinda smells like you, so…” Steve’s eyes are entirely too bright and big when they meet Billy’s for a breath. The truth is there just behind Billy’s blues. “Sorry, I just… If your dad is an alpha, I guess it makes sense why you smell like him, you see him every day and what not… It’s just really strong. Like you…”

Billy smells like an alpha has fucked him. That’s what Steve pussyfoots around.

Billy swivels around on his bare heels on the sidewalk. He gives Steve his full attention, lifts his chin in a challenge.

“What’re you saying, Harrington, you think I hang off my dad’s knot or something?”

No smirk graces his lips. No mischief twinkles in his devilish eyes. He’s not quite as hollow as he’d been the drive over here or their brief conversation on the shoulder where Steve found him. But all the same, Billy keeps his chin up while staring straight into amber eyes that go wide. Color drains from Steve’s pretty face the longer Billy stares and doesn’t crack a joke. Because it’s not funny. It’s the truth, and Billy’s soul cries out for catharsis. He wants to find it in Steve. 

Voice strained and barely above a whisper, Steve breathes, “Billy…”

Now Billy drops their gaze. He tosses one last look to the barber shop. The girl inside is all done. Her hair lies in a pile on the floor. Once midway down her back, it’s now chopped close to her ears. Where she’d once explained with a stony face what she wants, now she sits up glowing and excited. She can’t stop petting her hair and playing with it. Smiling. That could be Billy. 

But fuck his dad. He likes his hair like this. Buckling under pressure from others and changing has never been his style. It’s only six more times. He’s lasted this long. 

Hands in his pockets, Billy scoffs and takes off towards the diner. 

“Come on, Harrington. Think you said something about free lunch. And lemme bum a cigarette off you.”

Steve stays rooted to the spot. Billy doesn’t need to linger in the cloud of his horror to know Steve has glimpsed the truth. It’s all on Steve, now. What he’ll do. What he’ll make of it. Billy reaches where the sidewalk ends and casts a glance over his shoulder. It’s perhaps softer than it should be. Softer than he’s felt in a long fucking time. Living in Neil Hargrove’s shadow hadn’t allowed much softness. Because each time Dad found some softness in Billy, he dug his fingers into it until he made Billy hard and mean just like him. What softness remains in Billy, usually tucked away where no one can find it, he now flashes to Steve. 

Take the bait, pretty boy. You’ve peaked behind the curtain. Aren’t you curious? You’d do anything to help.

“Well?”

The one word sparks life back into Steve. His subtle horror remains even though he’s passed the scene of the crime. It lingers as he trails behind Billy. But Billy just slows his strides until they’re even. Until they’re equals. Their arms and the backs of their hands brush as they walk. It’s the first gentle touch someone has given him in so long. Steve doesn’t mean it, of course, doesn’t do it on purpose. But he doesn’t recoil. When they settle into the plush, red leather of the booth the hostess leads them to, Steve’s long legs find his under the table. He is mindful of Billy’s bare feet, makes sure to not accidentally stub a toe. When their ankles brush or someone adjusts the lay of their legs, they look up and find each other over their menus. They say nothing. Billy is more grateful for that than the universe sending Dad away. He’ll have to return to Cherry Lane eventually. To Dad. Six more times. For right now, though, he pushes all that away. Steve is here. This is nice. Almost normal. Almost what he wants.


End file.
